


Outcasts

by notmanos



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Skulking, maybe stop killing each other, might make a decent video game, panic attack before they were named
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmanos/pseuds/notmanos
Summary: Nicolo finds his faith and his sanity tested when he discovers he can't die like a normal person. And his enemy seems to be the exact same way.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 13
Kudos: 134





	Outcasts

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a post migraine meds fugue state - not a joke; I get lightheaded and really out of sorts - after having watched the film. I was so curious how their back story came about, so I wrote one. It may be crap, so, fair warning. But I thought maybe someone else would want to read it, so here it is.

* * *

Nicky vividly remembered the first time he died. 

It was within a partially walled city outside the Holy Land, where Nicolo and his fellow soldiers had pushed through into a tiled courtyard. It was, in retrospect, a trap. There were limited entrance and exit points, and terraces that left them vulnerable from attacks from above. Nicky became aware of this the second an arrow thunked into the skull of Paolo right beside him. He teetered a moment, eyes glazed, blood suddenly pouring out his ear, before he dropped his sword and collapsed. 

He had seem many horrible deaths before this, most in the service of this crusade. He wasn’t clear when he’d become disillusioned by this all, but the grisly violence and loss of so many friends had played a huge part . But he had pledged himself to the Church and he didn’t go back on his word lightly.

Nicky used his shield to fend off arrows from above as he tried to hack and slash his way to the cover of a narrow alley beside one of the terraced buildings. He knew this could be an extension of the trap, but he didn’t care. He needed a moment to think, to formulate a counter strategy. That was hard to do in a pitched battle. 

Blood of a half dozen warriors soiled his tunic, and he could feel it cooling and sticky on his face, clumping in his eyelashes. None of it was his blood, as far as he knew, but the blood of friends and enemy alike. Nicky’s one use to the Church had always been his utility with a sword. Otherwise he was nothing, another foundling with no family of his own and little future, until a traveling monk had shown him a sword. A short sword, as it was, but the monk, drunk and sentimental, had given it to him in a fit of generosity. Nicky had mostly taught himself to use it, at first, but then he caught the notice of a Knight Templar, and he found a purpose in his life. 

The heat here was terrible, and the stench of death brought these types of flies Nicky had never seen before, ones that didn’t seem to be afraid of anything and traveled in thick butts that settled over the dead like a shroud. He did his best to ignore them as he chopped and slashed his way through, using none of the delicacy or grace he was known for. There really was no place for it when you were fighting for your life. 

Somehow he’d cut a path for himself to the alley, lucky enough to avoid the arrows from above, but his shield was so heavy with them he tossed it aside. Several arrowheads had punched through it, destroying its integrity. 

He took several breaths, trying to take in the view of the battlefield without being overwhelmed by the sheer number of corpses. Along with hot air, he inhaled dust, making his dry mouth that much dryer. It felt like he hadn’t had a drop of water in his life. 

There was a small noise behind him, maybe wind blowing refuse, but as he turned to look, Nicky moved right into a sword. 

It punctured him in the chest, snapping ribs on its way out his back, and he tried to take a breath, only to find he couldn’t. Feeling the blade in him was awful, but worse yet was looking into the face of the man who killed him. 

He was a Saracen, with eyes as black as a starless sky, and a scowl that could have cut through stone. Nicky intended to punch him, grab the sword, spit in his face - something, anything - but his body wasn’t responding to him, and his vision was fogging over, bringing blessed shade to this sun blasted hell. 

The last thing he felt as he succumbed to darkness was the sword being violently yanked out of his body. 

**

Nicky gasped like he’d just surfaced from the water, and opened his eyes to see an unforgivingly bright blue sky, and heat that pressed down on him like a stone. 

It took him several moments to remember where he was, and recall that ... had he dreamed? He would swear he had. Before he opened his eyes, he remembered seeing jumbled images, of the man who had killed him and a woman, too pale to be from here, and garbed in strange clothes. 

Wait. The man who killed him?

He pushed himself upright, back against the wall, and saw he was sitting in a large pool of blood the earth hadn’t finished absorbing yet. He remembered the pain, the shock that ran through him as metal pierced his flesh, and saw the tear the sword made in his bloody tunic. But feeling the skin beneath ... nothing. It was unbroken. 

What? How could this - was this a nightmare? He couldn’t simply heal from that. He remembered dying. He remembered the darkness and the cold ...

What of Heaven? He had no memory of it. He was one of God’s soldiers - he should have gone to Heaven. Had he been rejected? Were his sins too great? Had God brought him back to atone?

Sorrow overwhelmed him, and made it hard for him to breathe. No, it couldn’t be. Maybe ... maybe God had a job for him, work he had to finish, and he hadn’t done it yet. Was that it? That had to be it, because the other possibility was unthinkable. Was he damned? 

He shoved himself up to his feet, and felt tears crawling down his face like insects. He wiped them away just as harshly, and picked up his sword from where it had fallen. He might need it to get out of the city. 

**

As it was, Nicky stumbled around in a daze until he found his way back to their encampment. He received a few stares, but no one had seen him die, so he attributed it to the fact that he was utterly doused in blood. The clothes were still somehow wet, even after exposure to the unrelenting heat, and he had to peel them off.

His mind was ablaze with what God could possibly want him to do. He was nothing, a nobody. He had no grand destiny. But Nicky began to wonder if he had this all wrong.

His killer was a heathen, yes? He knew some of the soldiers said they worked witchcraft, which Nicky didn’t believe in. But what if he was wrong? What if that man had cursed him somehow, and now he couldn’t get to the kingdom of Heaven? If he killed him, would the curse be released? 

He wanted to talk to someone about this, reason it out, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even dare tell the priest he had died, because if he had died, how was he here now? He might even accuse him of being an abomination, which he probably was. Nicky cut his thumb on the edge of his own blade, and watched as his skin knit itself back together. He was unholy, wasn’t he? A damned thing, doomed to walk this Earth, unless he could find some way to break the spell. 

Nicky cleaned the blood off him as best he could, and changed into cleaner clothes. While the others gathered to talk strategy, he snuck out of camp, and headed back towards the city. He had a cover story in case someone tried to stop him, but he managed to avoid everyone. 

It wasn’t easy getting back in. They seemed to be more secure than the encampment, and he had to kill three men simply to get past the rear gate. Once inside, he pulled a hood over his head and tried to stick to shadows, so no one would notice how pale he was. 

He hadn’t thought of how he was going to find this man, but his face was etched in his memory. He would know him when he saw him. Nicky only hoped to find him before he himself was discovered. 

Nicky spent the night wandering the city, aware from a remove that much of what the Church had told them about the heathens were wrong. This city was cleaner than his back home. The streets were level, and every now and again, when you least expected it, ornate decorative tiles or bright flashes of color would appear. He even found a water fountain. A fountain! Full of clear water, in a place where it didn’t seem to exist. After making sure no one was looking, he gulped handfuls of it, hoping it wasn’t tainted. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted. 

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since he died - did the dead eat? - and it didn’t help that he began to catch cooking smells from various houses. Eventually, he found some pastries of some sort cooling in a window, and he stole one like he was his old orphan self again. The pastry was sweet and strange, he recognized none of the flavors, and yet it was probably the best thing he’d eaten in over a year. 

Nicky hadn’t just brought his sword. He knew he could very well die after killing his foe, so he’d brought his crossbow as well. He only had two bolts left, but he figured that was enough. He was a good shot. According to Luciano, he was the best shot of the entire group. He didn’t know if that was true, but he did know he rarely missed. 

Nicky was starting to realize how much the Church had lied to him. These heathens were supposed to be animals, damned things beyond saving, but he had yet to spy any dark rituals. What he saw was people living their lives, like back in Genoa. He began to feel dizzy with the thought that, if they lied to him about this, what else had they lied to him about? In his experience, people rarely stopped at one lie. 

He wandered the maze like streets all night, lurking in shadows, occasionally getting lost and having to backtrack until he found his bearings. No wonder it was so hard to advance once the walls were breached. It was as if the the city was designed to be one huge trap. 

Nicky was exhausted and ready to give up, as well as lost again, as the merciless sun rose and brought light to scour away the shadows. But that’s when he began to wonder if God had played some part in this after all, because right there, coming out of a side street, was the man he was looking for. 

Nicky ducked back quickly, relieved he had not been spotted. He was slender but muscular and moved with purpose, his scimitar slung at his hip in a plain scabbard. Remembering the bite of steel through his chest, Nicky thought it best the man never get the chance to pull it. 

He pulled his crossbow, took aim, and fired. The arrow pierced his back dead center, and he dropped to his knees, scrabbling for his sword. Nicky rushed out as he loaded the second bolt, and came face to face with the man who had cursed him. Nicky must have caught him by surprise, as he looked utterly bewildered. “Remember me?” Nicky asked, and didn’t wait for a response, as he shot him in the heart. 

He thought he’d feel something, the release of the curse perhaps, as his lifeless body fell to the ground, but he didn’t. Nicky felt the same basic numbness as he had when he took his first step into this country. He ran, hoping he remembered the correct route, stunned that maybe he could escape alive after all. 

Nicky just barely escaped ahead of discovery, and returned to the encampment exhausted, with a horrible taste in his mouth. He returned to his tent, laid his sword aside, and picked up a knife, which he used to slit his own throat. 

**

Nicky woke up, to find himself face down on the ground, the knife still within reach of his outstretched hand. He was in a small pool of blood, but it was even more puny when you realized it was supposed to be the result of a slashed throat. That was the amount of blood that would have spilled if you amputated a finger or something. A quick feel proved to him his neck was totally healed, with only some drying blood to prove anything ever happened. 

He was still cursed. Killing the warlock had done nothing. Nicky hadn’t felt this much despair in his life. Heaven still didn’t want him. And worse yet, he saw them again. The woman in her odd garb, and the man he killed, only this time, he felt an echo of pain. From the woman? He wasn’t certain. The images were a blur, fragmented, like something viewed through a shattered mirror. 

There was another siege planned, this time near dusk, and Nicky decided to take part. Why not? He could die a thousand times, and at no point would it stick. Of course, his fellow soldiers didn’t know this. He wondered how long he could hide it from them. Probably until his next death, and then he’d have no idea what would happen. Would they banish him? Try and kill him more permanently? Nicky had no idea what he was going to do. He could never return home again, could he? He was a monster, a freak. He was lost in God’s sight.

The fight to breach the walls was ugly and brutal, just as all the fights had been. Nicky was sure he’d died at least once before he managed to push into the city, but everyone was too busy to notice. There was something about a bloody, grueling fight for life that narrowed your vision. 

Nicky once again found himself blood soaked and within the walls of the city, just how this nightmare began. Maybe that was it. Maybe this was a nightmare that never stopped. Maybe this was Hell, and he couldn’t die, because he was already dead. 

He felt lightheaded with despair and madness, and kept slashing his way forward, not sure where he was going and not caring either. What was the point of this? What was the point of anything? He was wading through the blood of his friends, to do what exactly? Secure the city? They didn’t have enough men. Yes, reinforcements were coming, but how long would that take? They would never be in time to make any difference. He was in Hell. They had always been in Hell. 

He was on the verge of laughter, mirthless and cracking the edge of his sanity, when he felt cold steel spear through his spine and out his chest. He looked down to see the scimitar, right where his heart was. “Remember me?” a voice whispered in his ear.

The last thought Nicky had was  _ No _ before the darkness took him again.

**

This time, when Nicky woke up, he found himself tied to a chair. 

He sat up, disoriented. He was in a small room, with an empty space between him and another chair. Only then did he realize he wasn’t alone in the room.

“What are you?” the man asked, sitting in the other chair. After a moment, Nicky realized the Sarcen had asked a question he understood.

“You know my language?”

“It helps to know the language of your invaders. They have a tendency to say important things around you if they think you don’t understand. But, answer my question. What are you?”

Nicky stared at him with weary disbelief. If he had killed this man, and he wasn’t dead, he had confirmed this was Hell, right? “Why don’t you tell me, since you did this to me.”

The man stared at him in return, the bewildered look back again. “What?”

“When you killed me the first time. You cursed me.”

He smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “I what?”

His amusement infuriated Nicky. “You cursed me!” He roared. “I can’t die! What did you do to me?”

His host was no longer amused. He seemed equal parts confused and intrigued. “You really think i did this.” Not a question. “I did nothing but defend my home.”

“And I am a soldier, doing my job. Take this from me. I don’t care how, just rid me of this hex.”

The man continued to stare at him like a fascinating insect he’d just found beneath a rock. “You’ve dreamed of me too, haven’t you? And the woman?”

Nicky’s stomach sunk. He didn’t understand any of this. Hell was the only explanation. He closed his eyes and tried to will this all away. Let it be a nightmare. His only hope was he was in a sick bed somewhere, lost in fever dreams. 

There was a pause before the man spoke again. “Let’s start at the beginning. My name is Yusef. What is your name?”

Nicky wasn’t sure he could speak without vomiting. But his stomach was so empty, it turned out he could. “Nicolo.”

“Okay, Nicolo. I think something has happened to us. We seem to have the same ... affliction.”

“This is Hell,” he said. In a way, it felt good to talk to someone about it. “We can’t die because we’re already dead.”

“I assure you, I would not be in your religion’s Hell.” That made Nicky open his eyes. Wait - whose Hell was he in? Was there more than one? “Also, my brother in law is still dead. As is Ahmed and Tahir. Your friends are still dead, yes?”

He thought about that, suddenly wondering if he had missed something. “I think so ...”

“So why only us? If this is your Hell, as you seem to think, why are we the only ones who can’t die?”

Nicky considered that, and his mind found the concept hard to hold onto. It made no sense, and he couldn’t seem to find a way to make it reasonable. He began shaking his head. “I don’t know. We’re being punished.”

“For what?”

Nicky kept shaking his head. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, and he closed them again, if only not to cry in front of Yusef. “Everything,” he said. His chest felt tight, and he was finding it hard to breathe again. “Everything.”

“Nicolo?” Yusef said, but it was far away, like he was shouting it from another room. Nicky was clenching his teeth so tightly he could feel them starting to crack. 

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his cheek, and he involuntarily leaned into it. He hadn’t been touched in so long. He opened his eyes to find Yusef crouching beside him. “You still with me?”

The tears were coming. He couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I tried to atone. I came to fight a war in his name. Why isn’t that enough? Why won’t God forgive me?”

Yusef was still staring at him wonder. Nicky realized he saw a kindness in those black eyes that he hadn’t expected, from him or anyone. “A God that requires you to kill for him is no god at all.” He reached behind him, and Nicky didn’t know why until he felt the ropes on his wrist fall away. 

He knew he should punch him, push him aside and try to escape, but why? It made no difference. Nothing made any difference. He might as well be here as anywhere. Despite his wishes, Nicky began sobbing, so hard it felt like he might fly apart at any moment. In fact, if that would finally kill him, he was all for it. “I tried,” he said between wracking sobs. “I tried to atone. Why wasn’t it enough? I did everything they said.”

Yusef put his arms around him and Nicky leaned into him, sobbing on his shoulder. He tried to stop crying, but he couldn’t. It felt like he’d been holding it in for most of his life, and he could no longer stop the flood. 

If this wasn’t Hell, it was close enough that it made no difference.

**

Nicky didn’t expect to wake up in a soft bed with soft blankets. But the way things had been going, he supposed he should start trying to expect the unexpected. 

He remembered nothing after sobbing like a child, which explained why his head hurt, his eyes were swollen, and he was having a difficult time breathing through his nose. He would have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure anything mattered anymore. 

He was still in a small, neatly appointed home, and he didn’t know where to go, so he simply walked until he came to a large room, where Yusef was pouring liquid into small cups. “Good, you’re up. I was about to check on you.”

He didn’t understand any of this, but he was too tired to worry about it. “Why didn’t you kill me again? Or turn me over to your people?”

“To what end? I don’t what happened to us, but I think we were meant to find each other.”

Nicky would have laughed, or at least snickered, but he didn’t have the energy or the will. “For what possible reason? To kill each other again and again until it takes?”

“That would be stupid, wouldn’t it?” Yusef motioned for him to sit at a small table and he did. Yusef put one of the small cups in front of him. He picked it up and sniffed it warily. Was that mint? A sip confirmed it. It was refreshing, and something of a sinus pressure reliever. 

Yusef sat across from him with his own cup. “I had never considered it as a negative before. I was surprised to find you did.”

After drinking his tea, Nicky remembered last night with a twinge of regret. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“There’s no need for shame. You’re not the first man I’ve seen broken by war.”

Nicky grimaced, and avoided his eyes. “I thought I was stronger than that.”

“War destroys us all. Only a beast would be untouched by its horror.” 

“You seem fine.”

“Only because you missed my breakdown.” Nicky looked back at him, and Yusef gave him a weak, sad smile. “I told myself I had to be strong for my family. After the death of Sadiq, my brother in law, I sent my sister and her son up North, to escape the war. Only when I was alone here did I give myself the luxury of falling apart.”

Nicky studied him a moment. He didn’t seem to be lying. But what a strange man. He was told the enemy were savages, godless heathens, and yet, Yusef might have been the kindest man he’d ever met - despite the fact that he killed him. Nicky wasn’t sure if the was an indictment of the Church or his life. Possibly both. “Am I your prisoner?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No. You’re free to leave if you want. We should probably stop killing each other, though.”

Nicky almost smiled at that. Yeah, that seemed to be a waste of energy. “I have nowhere to go,” he admitted. “I think my people think I’m dead, and that’s probably for the best.”

Yusef nodded. “Some of my people saw me die. I think I convinced them I was only injured, but they know better.” He paused briefly. “I’m thinking of going to find the woman.”

Nicky knew automatically who he meant. “You think she’s real?”

“We are, and she might have answers for us. Or maybe not, but it’s a start.”

“How do you know where she is?”

“I don’t. But she was wearing Asian garments, so heading east seems wisest. If I stick to larger settlements, maybe I can meet her half way.”

Nicky was starting to realize things that made him feel more stupid. Yusef had traveled; he’d probably seen more of the world than he had. He was fluent in another language, and he had a nice home. Nicky had seen parts of Genoa and that was all, until the ships brought them here, and he only had the vaguest idea of where “here” was. Nicky felt like his gutter urchin origins were written all over his face. Which is why what he said next surprised even him. “Can I come with you?”

“If you like. But -“

”- no more killing each other.”

“If we run into any of my people, you may have to play prisoner.”

Nicky sighed. “I figured as much.” He knew this was insane, and yet, it still seemed like the most logical thing to do. 

Yusef seemed to have connections, as it didn’t take him long to arrange things, with people who supposedly hadn’t seen him die and miraculously get better. Nicky hid in his house while this was going on, and did some looking around. 

Most of what he found wasn’t interesting, until he came across some drawings, all of exquisitely detailed landscapes. They were gorgeous. Had he done these? He never would have thought he was an artist, but unless he had a generous friend, these probably were his works. It was difficult to reconcile the angry man who first killed him with all of this. But could he reconcile himself as a man who would hack his way through a dozen men, for reasons that were never that clear in the first place? Nicky had liked to think of himself as a good person. Or at least he used to be. Maybe it didn’t apply to whatever he was right now. 

Was he even human if he didn’t die? Was he even more of a monster than he thought?

No, they. At least he was no longer alone.

After a strange but delicious meal, they headed out at dusk, through the rear gate Nicky had to kill his way through the other night. He kept his hood pulled low, hoping no one recognized him. Luckily, Yusef knew them and kept them distracted enough that Nicky was able to slip through. 

Because they had to leave fast, they had horses, and Nicky was absurdly grateful. He was so tired of walking. Yes, he wasn’t the greatest rider, but he still liked the idea of something else doing the work for him. Before Nicky had to pretend he knew how to mount a ride - he had vague memories, and remembered seeing other people do it - Yusef gave him something wrapped in green cloth. It turned out to be his sword. “I saw the etching on it,” he said. “I thought it might be a heirloom.”

It wasn’t, but also, it was. It was the most expensive gift he’d ever been given. His priest gave it to him, and said, with pride, “Go free the Holy Land.” He wondered what the father would think of him now. 

“Thank you,” he replied, and much to his surprise, meant it. Would he ever understand Yusef’s small kindnesses? Honestly, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to him.

One thing Nicky had forgotten about riding on horseback was, after a bit, it kind of hurt. At least he could confirm he still felt pain like a human. But the worst was yet to come, as they stopped around dawn, at a place way too small to even call a town - it was like a collection of shacks and tents at the edge of a vast desert. 

After buying some supplies, Yusef traded the horses for a monster.

It was a camel. According to him, horses wouldn’t last long where he was intending to go, but a camel would. But Nicky disliked it on sight. It was huge and ugly, and smelled horrible. Also, it made these kind of disturbing noises that he really didn’t like. Yusef told him he would be fine, but how could he trust this guy? Didn’t he kill him just a day ago?

But at this point, there was no turning back. And even though Nicky never stopped hating the camel - it was going to stomp him to death first chance it got, he knew it -there was relief in traveling with someone who actually knew what to expect and how to prepare for it. After the boat made land, the travel to the encampment had been a grueling march, where it seemed none of the commanders knew what they were doing. Six men died on the way there, and four were mortally ill by the time they reached it. Nicky had been so starved for water he thought he might die. Which struck him as sort of grimly funny now. 

Yusef knew what he was doing. He knew the best time to travel, how to ration the water and the mostly dried food, and despite the fact that the landscape looked roughly the same to Nicky wherever he looked, Yusef seemed to know where they needed to go. 

Nicky never got used to the heat. He was pretty sure that was never going to happen.

What did surprise him was how fast the temperature dropped once the sun went down. Usually they built a fire, and with nothing else to talk about, they talked about themselves. They had nothing in common. Yusef came from a relatively prosperous family that loved him, and Nicky was simply raised by the Church, and often had to steal food to survive. Yusef seemed horrified that the Church hadn’t taken better care of them, but there were so many children, Nicky could kind of see their side of it. Yusef probably would have had a decent life if this thing - and the war - hadn’t happened. At least Nicky took some comfort in knowing he was probably doomed before this happened. That was optimism, right? 

What began to strike Nicky as strange was how comfortable he was with Yusef now. Yes, he trusted him. He wasn’t sure why, he knew he shouldn’t, but he did anyway. He got the sense that Yusef trusted him too, and may have been as equally bewildered by this development. They were enemies, after all, only united by their strange ... what had Yusef called it? Affliction. 

On the morning of the third day, Nicky thought he was woken up by the stifling heat inside the tent - in the fragile moments between the end of night and the beginning of dawn, heat built up eerily fast - but then he heard voices, and the snort of a horse. He sat up and heard Yusef say to someone, in Italian, “And I’m supposed to believe you’re not going to kill me?”

Nicky grabbed his sword and came out of the tent, only to see something he hadn’t expected.

Men he knew.

Barely, but it still counted. There were three of them, and the one with the largest beard, rust colored and knotted, still had a fragment of his Templar’s uniform. All three of them had seen the worst of the sun, as their skin was red and peeling, and their lips so chapped they looked like flaking stone. They had horses that looked better than their masters, but only just. Still, they had the sense to stay far away from the camel. 

It was hard to say if Nicky or the men were were more surprised to see him here. The one with the beard was named Dario, he knew that, and the smaller man with the classic Roman nose was ...Cesar? He was pretty sure of that. The third man with the shaggy dark hair and bloodshot eyes had a short name, but he couldn’t quite recall it. He decided on Enzo, because he had to call him something. 

“Nicolo?” Dario said. “I thought you were dead.”

“And I thought you were. What are you doing here?”

Cesar barked a laugh that sounded forced. “Us? What the hell are you doing with this heathen?”

“If you don’t want to die today, I suggest you leave,” Yusef said, quite calmly. Which, of course, was the danger sign. He was one of those of those people who didn’t get mad more than he got quiet. And then he got mad, but you might not be around to notice it. A quick glance confirmed Yusef was wearing his sword. 

Dario made a dismissive noise and waved a hand at Yusef like he was a fly that was annoying him. “You’re outnumbered, Saracen. Can’t you count?”

“What are you doing?” Nicky asked. He honestly couldn’t figure out why they were out here. When they left the city, he had hoped he had left his life behind. 

“They’re thieves,” Yusef said, his voice dripping with contempt. “They’ve been robbing anyone they find, but it seems they’ve lost their way.”

“All this sand looks the same,” Enzo complained. 

“This war isn’t for us,” Dario said. “They’ll give us nothing of what they promised. They expect us to die out here with all this damned heat and sand and heathens. Might as well take what we can while we can, eh?”

Nicky nodded. He understood, but whatever rebellion this was, it was aimed at the wrong people. “Yusef is right. You need to leave now.”

Dario raised his caterpillar thick eyebrows at that. “You’re on a first name basis with this one? What have you been doing out here?”

Nicky scowled, and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “You won’t be warned twice.” He noticed Yusef staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and when he glanced his way, Yusef canted his head as if asking a question. It took Nicky a moment, but he realized he was. He was tacitly asking if it was all right to kill these men. Nicky gave him a tight nod. 

The talking was over. Dario, Cesar, and Enzo had swords too, and with a roar, Dario lunged at Nicky, swinging his sword like an axe. He was always a brute with no finesse. Nicky let the blade chop the air beside him, and pulled out his sword. With one swift move, he slashed the air between them, cutting open Dario’s throat before he was aware of it. Blood spurted out in a fountain, spattering the sand. He dropped his sword and reached up his to neck, giving Nicky a shocked, betrayed look. But what did he expect? That he was going to stand here and let him kill him first?

He moved to help Yusef, but he didn’t need to. Cesar was already dead, and as Nicky looked on, he saw him parry Enzo’s clumsy thrust, and bury his sword right in his chest. As Yusef pulled out the blade and Enzo collapsed to the sand, Nicky wondered if that’s how he killed him the first time. Great form. 

Yusef wiped his blade off on Enzo’s pant leg before sheathing it. “Sorry about your friends.”

“They weren’t my friends. Just men I barely knew.”

“So you won’t object to leaving them for the carrion birds?”

“Absolutely not.” Maybe he should have felt more kinship to them - they were fighting on the same side, after all - but how many friends had he actually had? Maybe two, and both were long dead. They were all loosely connected men who had to find their own ways to survive. As soon as they were sent on this crusade, he had a feeling the people left behind had already written them off. 

They packed up camp, and it was decided Nicky would ride one horse and lead the others, until they could reach this outpost that Yusef knew about. That was fine by him, and despite everything, they managed to reach the town before dusk. They traded the horses in for some more supplies, and no one asked why they had them. Nicky missed them right away, but also understood not having the horses. There was nothing but deeper desert before them. 

He was never going to like the desert, much like he was never going to like the heat, but Nicky found he’d had a lot of time to think. Something about this environment made you turn inward. 

  
Why was he so driven to atone? Why was it so important to him? He’d pinned his entire identity on the fact that he was a sinner who could not be saved, something he’d believed since he was a child. They were all stained, all unholy, and only by following the Church could he ever be saved. But now, looking at it from a distance, he realized the Church was the one that told him he was unclean, and had been since he existed. It was a trap. He owed them no loyalty. He would never be deemed saved, because it wasn’t in their interest to declare anyone saved. They needed more bodies for the war, and what better way to find them? They had so many wayward children, and no way to feed them all. With their thinned ranks, maybe now they could.

Nicky did have to admit that the desert had moments of wonder. It was all sand, and all looked the same, until somehow it didn’t. They crested a dune, and up ahead was a collection of dramatic, jagged rocks that offered blessed shade. After so much sand, they seemed almost beautiful. Nicky became more enamored of it when Yusef pointed out a hidden spring. Yes, they had enough water, but any in this environment felt like a gift. 

They made camp for the night, and Nicky discovered another benefit to to the rocks. It was shelter from the cutting wind, so Nicky didn’t feel like he was courting danger sitting by the fire. He really didn’t want to know what it was like to burn to death. 

Looking up at the sky, he was quietly awed. Back home, sometimes he’d look up at the night sky and count the stars, but they didn’t seem to be as densely packed as they were here. The sky above seemed wider somehow, and the stars were like jewels in the black. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything so beautiful. The moon was a mere sliver, but incredibly bright in spite of its size. 

Yusef came and laid down beside him, trying to see what he was looking at. “What do you call your constellations?” he asked.

“Personally? Stars.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, but I’ve never been able to see constellations,” Nicky admitted. “They tried to teach me, but I never saw the shapes other people claimed to see. I just pretended I did so they’d leave me alone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Yusef ‘s gaze was now centered on him. He glanced over. “What?”

“Do you realize how many stories you tell end with you being left alone?”

Interesting. Nicky thought back, and realized Yusef had a point. “Huh.”

“You prefer being alone?”

“In my experience, people usually want something from you. It’s best to keep to yourself, especially if you have nothing to give..”

“That’s so sad,” Yusef said. He was still staring at him, and Nicky could see the flames reflected in his eyes. The first time he’d seen them, he thought they were as black as a starless sky, but now he realized they were more like the ocean at night. The depth was unfathomable, and Nicky could see himself drowning in them. 

Nicky grimaced, aware of how terrible that sounded now. “We’re from different worlds. If it means anything, I prefer yours.”

There was a long moment of silence, where Nicky simply watched the fire reflected in Yusef’s eyes. He was a handsome man, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen that before. “We have a chance to become better than we are,” he said. 

Nicky thought he missed a word, because he didn’t understand. “What?”

“We don’t die. We might not be able to live among normal people too long, without them noticing. So we can be anyone we want. We can leave our old selves behind and become something new.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way before. But then again, he saw this as nothing but a curse. Maybe Yusef was right. Maybe it wasn’t. “You think that’s possible?”

“I think we can stop limiting ourselves now. Nothing is impossible, if we exist.”

Nicky stared at him, amazed. He was right. Why hadn’t that ever occurred to him before? He wished he could see the world through Yusef’s eyes. 

He felt an urge to touch his face, and did, letting his palm rest against the side of Yusef’s cheek. Yusef didn’t object. Before he realized what he was doing, Nicky leaned forward and kissed him. 

He was braced for rejection, for a violent reaction, but Yusef surprised him by kissing him in return, so hungrily it felt like he was trying to devour him. Nicky wrapped his arms around him, and pulled Yusef on top of him. He liked the warmth, and the weight of him. Yusef’s hands found their way beneath his shirt, and his touch seemed to set his skin on fire. Nicky had never wanted anything more than he wanted Yusef in this moment. 

Yusef broke away to catch his breath, and Nicky put a hand in his soft hair. He seemed slightly confused, and slightly aroused, which honestly looked good on him. “Nicolo, I -“

“No more talking,” he said, and kissed him again. There was no resistance. 

Nicky already knew that he loved him, and was quietly astonished by it, as he had long ago decided love was for other people. He never really felt that connected to anyone, or, if he did, it never ended well. But the moment he came out of the tent and saw Dario and the others, he knew he’d kill them all if they tried to hurt Yusef. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t die, or that Yusef could more than take care of himself. Just the thought that they intended to hurt him was infuriating. It occurred to him he’d kill his whole army if he had to. It was then Nicky realized he was lost for good ... and maybe it wasn’t so bad. 

He really didn’t know what it meant that he was in love with a man. He didn’t care either. It wasn’t that everything in his life had gone wrong since he encountered Yusef, although he thought so at first. It was that everything in his life was wrong, and Yusef helped him see that. 

The night was a blur of pleasure. Nicky knew his skin tasted like salt, and he made him feel things he hadn’t felt before. He never wanted him to stop touching him. Nicky kissed him until his lips were swollen. Even Yusef’s beard rubbing against his skin had a charge. 

He woke up to the tent growing stuffy with the morning light, and he heard Yusef outside, probably starting to pack things up. Nicky wrapped a blanket around himself, and stepped outside.

The rocks were blocking the worst of the sun’s rays, at least for the moment, and when Yusef spotted him, he smiled in a way that made Nicky feel warmth in his stomach. God, he was so beautiful. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said.

“You didn’t,” he said, and kissed him. It was chaste at first, but quickly became more passionate. Nicky could feel the heat between them starting to build. He broke away, and rested his forehead against Yusef’s. It took a moment for them to catch their breath. 

“We don’t have to leave right now,” Nicky said, when he could talk. “One day won’t make any difference, will it?”

“No.” Yusef moved his hand to the side of his neck, and it took everything in him not to go in for another kiss. Once they started again, he didn’t think they’d stop. 

Yusef took a deep breath and straightened up, clearly trying to suppress his desire. It wasn’t going to work, mainly because Nicky was going to make sure it didn’t. “If this doesn’t work out with the woman, we don’t have to stay. We can go anywhere you want. We can go back to your home.”

Nicky put a hand on Yusef’s chest. “I’m already home.” 

And this time, when he kissed him, they didn’t stop. 

**

The End


End file.
